


Even

by stardropsapphic



Category: Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Hiding an injury, OCAngstAndFluffWeek2019, Recovering alcoholic character, seriously these two do not get along initially
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 18:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20587211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropsapphic/pseuds/stardropsapphic
Summary: On the way to Weynon Priory, Elaine and Martin run into a bit of trouble.





	Even

**Author's Note:**

> enjoy my shameless love of Martin/Hero of Kvatch it will never die (even if martin did f)

The morning air pierced through Elaine’s bedroll, chilling her to the bone and sending her shivering.

_What I wouldn’t give for some ale,_she thought bitterly as she opened her eyes to the dim light. The rolling green hills she’d passed just a few days before were covered in a thick fog—autumn was closing in. _The chill is murder, and these shivers aren’t helping._

She sat up and looked at the fire, surprised to already find it merrily burning.

“Good morning,” came the priest’s soft voice.

Eyes red with lack of rest and still not entirely adjusted to the bright light, she looked up from the flames. Martin was sitting by the fire, pack neatly tucked against his side and supplies safely stowed.

_Damn him._

Elaine yanked her comb from her pack, tearing through her hair and knotting it into a rough approximation of a braid before haphazardly rolling her bedroll up into her pack. “I’m assuming you’ve already eaten,” she mumbled. “So let’s get on with it. We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover before we reach Weynon Priory.”

“You’re not going to eat?” Martin asked.

She stood up, forcing her still-sore feet into her battered leather boots before stamping out the flames. Soot coated the sole and toe. “Not hungry.”

* * *

The sun was just reaching its highest point when an icy shiver—not one induced from lack of booze—ran down Elaine’s spine.

She stopped dead in her tracks, glancing to her left and right. The road they walked was flanked on both sides by thick forest.

_Shit._

“What’s wrong?” Martin asked behind her.

“Shhh!” she hissed, reaching to her side and slowly sliding the Blade of Woe from its sheath.

It happened in a rush: three bandits ran out from the tree line to their right. She thought she heard Martin murmur something behind her, but instead her pulse roared to life and she forgot all about the priest or the shivers.

The Blade of Woe entirely out of its sheath, Elaine sprang into action. Launching herself at the first bandit, she kept low to the ground to avoid the enormous claymore in his grasp. As the bandit swung it down in a wide and heavy arch she rolled to the left. The dust clung to her hair, flinging itself into her eyes as she rolled, and for a moment she thought she heard a weapon being unsheathed. But she paid it no mind—instead she swung the wicked dagger upwards, slicing through the thin pelts of the bandit’s armor and into the flesh of his abdomen. He went down with a large spray of blood that coated the dusty ground.

Elaine vaguely heard Martin conjuring spells in the background as he took on one of the remaining two bandits—this one carrying two short swords. “Get back you idiot!” she roared, already moving on the second bandit. “I can’t give you to Jauffre if you’re dead!”

The bandit inched closer, longsword and shield at the ready. Elaine backed up with a curse. _No good. I need to get around his backside._

“I can handle myself fine, thank you,” Martin replied gruffly as he himself backed up.

Somehow, Elaine wasn’t quite sure, they backed away from their respective opponents enough to where they stood back-to-back. She heard the soft crackle of the enchantment on his dagger and could feel his heavy breathing.

“Out of practice?” she quipped, although her own breathing was getting labored.

“Hardly,” he replied. “Although for some hired blade I expected better results from you.”

She smiled. She wasn’t quite sure why.

“Giving up?” the bandit with the longsword asked.

_Hardly._

With a flick of her wrist, Elaine sent the Blade of Woe flying faster than the bandit could react—or as fast as he could react, given the poor training the miserable sods had. The blade landed in his eye socket, and he dropped like a bag of stones.

She reached into her boot and pulled a hunting knife, turning in a flash to send it right to the remaining bandit.

Instead, the fellow was already on the ground, a small stab wound through to his heart and blood pooling onto the dirt.

Elaine looked up to Martin. He had moved away from her when she’d gone for her knife, and was now cleaning the blade of his dagger on the pelts of the bandit he’d slain. “They weren’t too much trouble,” he murmured.

For the first time since she’d met the priest, she was at a loss for words. After a few moments, mouth hanging open like a fish out of water, she sheathed her knife. “Never met a priest who was so easygoing about killing.”

His face went dark. “I wasn’t always a priest.”

She merely gave a brief nod, moving to remove her own dagger from her opponent’s skull. “Good, so we can keep moving without you pleading to every Divine out there for his lost soul.”

She didn’t bother to clean the blade, merely sheathing it and readjusting her pack. Martin started walking ahead of her, not bothering to rise to her insult.

She looked down at the first bandit, who had a sizable coin purse on his belt. She reached down and plucked it from his corpse with a satisfied smile. _So it wasn’t all for nothing at least._

There was glimmer from the bandit’s hand which caught her eye. She glanced and saw a small dagger in his hand—the weapon she heard unsheathe—which had a not so insignificant amount of blood on the steel.

There came another shiver. Elaine looked down at her battered armor, and there was a small tear in the leather along her ribcage. She reached down and felt along the tear, and felt wet warmth that couldn’t have been anything but her own blood.

_Shit,_she thought. _Knew I should’ve gotten the bloody thing repaired in Skingrad. Don’t even know how much the fucker got me without stopping too long. Shit, shit, shit!_

She readjusted her cloak so it covered the tear.

* * *

They didn’t get far.

Martin was getting far ahead—too far. Elaine couldn’t focus on keeping up, only the agony in her ribs and the slow loss of feeling in her fingertips. She felt a sheen of sweat form on her forehead. Her breath came out as quiet wheezes.

The last thing she remembered thinking was, _Damn bastard. I hope Sithis takes him for that dirty trick._

The world slowly slid sideways and Elaine’s world went black.

* * *

Elaine woke up to the night sky. She felt the warmth of a fire off to her right, and something smelled vaguely of dried herbs.

“You’re awake!” came a surprised voice.

She groaned, trying to sit up. A firm hand pressed her into the bedroll. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Martin insisted, his face coming into her view. “Another half inch and that wound would’ve pierced your lung, and I’d hate to have to explain to Jauffre that you survived Oblivion only to die to some half-baked brigand.”

Elaine could only laugh—which hurt like hell as her ribs pushed against the tight bandages Martin had no doubt applied. “It’d make a better story,” she rasped. “’Dark Brotherhood assassin and the Arena fighter survives everything this world throws at her only to die protecting the last Septim bastard.’ Tell that one at a bar and they might take you for a jester and laugh you out of the establishment.”

Martin, however, didn’t laugh.

She looked over to him. “Aw, what? I never claimed to be some saint.”

“I was trying to get under your skin when I called you a sword for hire,” he murmured, seemingly unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t realize…”

With a groan, Elaine raised herself onto an elbow. “Look, Martin, don’t go beating yourself up over something like that. You read the room better than Jauffre or the Emperor ever did. Still don’t know what the old man was on about.” She groaned again and laid back down when the pain grew too great. “I guess I owe you one. I wouldn’t have saved my sorry ass if I were you.”

Martin looked back at her, blue eyes softer than they’d been since their first interaction at the chapel. “You already saved Kvatch, and me. I’m simply returning the favor.”

She smiled—a genuine smile she didn’t even know she could still manage these days. “Even then.”

Martin smiled in return. “Yes. Even.”

**Author's Note:**

> I promise I haven't given up on "Be" yet I'm just dying from a new semester and am super far up Todd Howard's cowardly ass rn.


End file.
